


Choking on Flowers

by gnashing_teeth



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Choking, Engagement, F/M, Flower Vomiting, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Mentions of Murder, Michael Langdon & You - Freeform, Michael Langdon/Reader - Freeform, Michael Langdon/You - Freeform, Michael is a Little Shit, Michael is also a fake bitch, Michael is kind of dom af in this, Mouth Kink, Pregnancy, but not really, like inspired by it, lots of mouth stuff, the love is VERY MUCH not unrequited, to your dismay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23243647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnashing_teeth/pseuds/gnashing_teeth
Summary: Michael Langdon is a sick fuck that likes to play with your unfortunate new sickness.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Reader, Michael Langdon/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	Choking on Flowers

What a picture perfect image, beautiful roses pressed in patterns on your sundress, hand daintily covered by your fiance's. Both fingers gleamed in all the glitters of diamond engagement rings. Creamy, tanned fingers brush luscious, blonde locks out of his eyes as you hear an amused sigh leave his lips over some silly joke your father makes. 

Michael Langdon was such a faker.

It had dawned on you, the realization after you moved in together after nine months of steady dating. There were no abnormalities you could point to, he seemed as normal and as charming as any boy who was raised from good breeding such as yourself. The joyous union of two wealthy families continuing the lineage of fortune. 

It wasn't until you found the bodies in your new home’s basement. Twisted in odd ends, bones protruding, yet so elegantly carved, as if there was more thought brought to how you could decorate a human figure. 

“Please don't be mad at me.” you could practically hear the tears in his voice, your back turned from him as your mouth stood gaped in horror at the sight before you. 

How could you be mad when you were already afraid? 

It was even earlier on in the relationship, oh so charming, yet so.... needy. He clung to you like the smell of cigarettes on a smoker's clothes. Michael tried to never leave your side. You kept telling yourself that it was three months in, he'd get over the newness of the relationship and you'd get your space. Besides, how could you be annoyed at such a handsome man? Practically handcraft by the gods, carved with intricate thought like the bodies in the basement.

How could you stay afraid when you loved him so much? 

If there was one thing you had to pick about Michael to be your favorite, it would be his willingness to compromise.

“I'll do anything,” his voice wavered in the still air of the basement. “please don't leave me.” you could hear him sniffling. Oh, the poor thing. 

You remember it so clearly. His once icy gaze completely melted into soft pools of water, snot and tears in a mix dribbling down his face as his shoulders quaked in undeniable fear.

Well, what could you do?

“Only me.” the words left faster than you had time to organize your thoughts.

He gave another sniffle, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand, “W-what?” 

“You can't hurt anyone else….” were you really going to do this? “I want you to only take it out on me.”

His face grew from fear, to realization, to a hunger lying beneath his restless blues, black pupils blown wide. 

The memory of it still left an ache in your body, the way your head crashed into the back wall of the basement as Michael rushed you into it. His hands that once shook with fear now quivered in excitement. Pressing one hand over your face in a sloppy, uncomfortable way as his breath trembled across your features.

“You mean it? You'd really let me play with you?” 

The tears welling in your eyes spilled over as you nodded your head the best you could. His lips pressed into yours harshly as he pulled you into his body like you were prey. Had you just given your rights, your body, to the antichrist? 

Michael gives another fake laugh at another one of your father's lame, corny jokes. You snap back to reality, eyes focusing on the pristine white tablecloth and once sparkling silver dishes caked in leftover roast and vegetables. 

“So, where are you guys deciding to honeymoon?” there's a curious glint in your mother's eyes. 

Michael picks up his glass of wine before you hear him mutter something and take a drink before answering, “Oh. We're not sure, but definitely somewhere warm.” he smirks setting his glass back down. 

A force erupted from your insides, heating them, then rising through your lungs, up and out your mouth. Coughing, sputtering, choking. 

As you were taught, you brought your beautifully woven dinner napkin up to your mouth. Slowly raising yourself off the chair as the coughing wouldn't cease.

“Dear, are you alright?” Michael asked, the concerned expression didn't match the amused tone you could always pick out in him. 

You nodded while turning, tucking your mouth into your elbow and fast walking to the nearest bathroom, continuing the sputtering fit. 

Over the sink you began to dry heave, aching for the relief of what you knew was to come. 

This was recent, after the engagement, only a couple of weeks ago. It started with a small coughing fit and a strange sensation of velvet in your mouth afterwards. Reaching in you found the soft, delicate petals of black dahlias. And that's how you began to know the sickness. What became a few coughs turned into minute long ordeals. And Michael loved every second of your fits. 

You cursed at yourself internally, you should have known another episode was on the way. It was probably the dinner that concealed the fullness you’d normally feel before, the bloating would become almost unbearable until you’d begin hacking out the flower petals one by one. 

The sharp knock at the door almost made you jump from your skin.

“Hun, you okay?” there it was again, the lull of concern with amusement amidst it.

Your fingers unlocked the knob, still sputtering with your other hand clinging to your chest. Like a phantom he slipped in, without a sound and utter obsession branded into his eyes as he watched you intently trying so desperate to choke out the flowers. Kneeling down you sat languidly on the floor, hunched over trying desperately to heave out the contents inside you.

Michael knelt down with you, familiar slender fingers pinched your chin towards him. An all too familiar expression covertly tugged at the corner of his mouth, his other fingers brushed gently over your plush lips, moist with your saliva.

“Let me help you, dear.” his smile revealed as his fingers moved into your mouth. He explored very briefly, the pads of his index and middle brushed over your tongue and inside of your cheeks. It was very clear he was enjoying this, his mouth opening as he sighed at the sensation of your soft palate. 

You flinched trying to jerk back once his fingers journeyed deeper now down your throat. At this, his other hand quickly snatched the base of your neck and pressed down on a nerve, forcing your jaw open in pain. He strained and pushed himself forward onto his knees and pinned you against the bathroom's lower cabinets. 

“I can't get it out if you keep moving. You have to be good.” there was a steely glare of ice before it melted back into fascination. 

At this your eyes snapped shut on instinct feeling the way his fingers hooked themselves, swabbing inside your esophagus before pulling back and gently brushing against your tongue. You could feel your throat bulge as you gagged against his limber fingers. He repeated the action and pulled out a few petals of the black dahlias you've grown to loathe so much. 

Michael's fingers curled, crushing the supple, wet petals in his fist before gently running his lips over his knuckles. 

“It's beautiful,” he mused, opening his hands, black peels of velvet fell in crumpled, sticky masses. His fingers ran against your jaw as you were finally catching your breath, “you're so beautiful.” He gave a happy hum as he pressed his lips into yours again. 

Fresh tears spilt over your ruddy cheeks as you watched him pull away from you. This was sick, absolutely batshit fucked, but you couldn't help it. Maybe there was more than just this flower sickness inside of you. The fact that he looked at you like a fascinating toy to play with and prod only drew you closer like a moth to a flame. 

Nausea coursed through you like a fever. Immediately making you stumble and crawl on your parent's polished floor like a toddler toward the toilet. Another dry heave before you erupted, petals literally being vomited from your mouth. You spat in disgust trying desperately to get the fragile pieces all out. This was far more than you had ever coughed up before. 

From the corner of your blurred vision you saw Michael watch in absolute, dumbstruck awe as the soft, black petals rushed through you like a faucet. Lines of tears ran down your cheeks and your jaw ached wishing for the end. Your once full stomach finally felt emptier than ever as you coughed out a couple more petals and shakily turned to lean your shivering body against the wall.

Michael's expression never wavered, his eyes searched your body, roaming and ravaging your form with a smile that could make an angel sin.

“Is everything okay in there?” the knock at the door made both of you leap inside your skins, eyes locking onto the voice on the other side. “Honey, do you need any help in there? Are you… throwing up?” 

Your mom was the nosiest person at the best of times. Before you could say anything Michael's hand flew over your mouth, the sound of both your skin colliding making a small slapping sound as he now hovered over you.

“Everything's fine in here, I'm just helping her clean up. Something must have made her sick.” Michael's smile persisted along with the hint of amusement under the mock concern.

There was a long pause. “I'm gonna go grab something and be right back.” 

At this Michael rolled his eyes into the sun. You could barely stand your parents, but _he_ wanted to cut them open and launch their ashes into the darkness of space. 

“Maybe it was your shitty cooking.” he sarcastically groaned before turning his attention back to you. “Where were we again?” 

He straddled you this time, his perfect fingers brushing over your lips a few times before you opened your mouth allowing him passage again. His fingers journeyed through every single crevice in your mouth, picking out pieces of leftover petals. You bucked against him feeling him finally delving deep to his favorite spot: your throat. 

“Say ‘ahh'” he mocked with childlike excitement gleaming in his eyes.

You tried your best before feeling two thick, ring clad fingers dive into your esophagus again. Like lightning your hands flew to his wrist trying to pry him out of places he shouldn't be. 

He gave a dark chuckle, “Oh c’mon, I _know_ you've taken thicker, lovely.” 

Fire blazed across your cheeks and your eyes shut feeling him dig deeper. He hummed as he worked, the same hooking sensation scratching at your throat like a voracious animal as he fished out three more petals. He gave you one last swab for good measure before running his wet fingers across your tongue. 

“What a good girl you are.” he praised. 

Michael's fingers brushed away whatever tears you had left, pressing another tender kiss against you. 

In almost imperceivable phases you watched his eyes go from soft baby blue to hard steel as another knock sounded on the door.

“Try this, baby.” It was your mother again. There was the crinkle of packaging being shoved under the door frame before the sound of footsteps faded down the hallway. 

It was Michael who shuffled off the floor to pick up whatever your mom decided would answer your ailment. 

You sat up completely now, eyes trailing over the mess of now sopping wet black petals beginning to sink into the depths of the toilet bowl. It looked almost artistic, like some obscure art piece you'd see in a museum. Michael's giggling pulled you to reality, tossing something onto your lap.

“Perhaps your mother isn't as stupid as I thought she is.” he shook his head. “there's no need to take it. I think we already know the answer to this one.” he knelt down to kiss the top of your head before he opened the door and shuffled out, his well kept shoes clicking the whole way down the hall. 

Confused, you picked up the crumpled packaging and immediately your mouth went dry.

A pregnancy test.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO I've been working on this fic like literally on and off for about a year. It was written about a year ago, but I never gained the motivation to finish it because I was so crushed by how terrible Apocalypse ended I just never wanted to finish it, but I refused to let myself write anything else really until I finally edited this so here you are! There isn't gonna be a sequel so don't even ask lmao I have lost interest in writing Michael because of the terrible ending which is kind of sad because I DID have a lot of good fic ideas in my masterlist for him. Who knows though, maybe once I get to projects I actually wanted to write and get through those I might still be interested in writing stuff for Michael off my list! 
> 
> I'm also ngl the editing was kind of rushed so lemme know if there's any weird wording or typos ajflk;ajfd  
> w  
> EDIT: I forgot to say that the fic is also loosely based off [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6Jjf_MLDsw)


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